


From The Beginning

by Nostalgia_101



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5847409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nostalgia_101/pseuds/Nostalgia_101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how Emma and Killian went from roommates to 'oh shit I think I'm in love with my best friend'. (Roommates AU Prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5165093">'Not Quite On The Same Page').</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	From The Beginning

**October 2013**

“Do you think they have Wi-Fi in Narnia?” Emma greeted Mary Margaret and David as she slumped into their regular booth in the back corner of The Wolf & Bow. “Or maybe Hogwarts would be better?” she mused, slipping off her grey knitted beanie and smoothing down her hair.

“Are you kidding me?” David scoffed, handing her a bottle of beer. “You’re a muggle, they’d make you use dial-up just on principle.”

Mary Margaret glanced from her friend to her boyfriend, scrunching her nose in confusion. “Am I missing something or is this just another one of your weird sibling conversations I never quite follow?”

Emma gave her a tired smile. “Sorry, just weighing up my options of where I can move when I’m inevitably kicked out of my apartment.” She took a long draught of her drink. “Make-believe worlds seem to be the only affordable option at the moment.”

“The new roommate search going that well, huh?” said Mary Margaret, patting Emma’s arm sympathetically. 

“Out of the five people I saw today, only one was semi-decent – and she had a _pet tarantula_.”

“Oh god, _veto_ ,” David interrupted, suppressing a shudder. 

Emma snorted. “Like you even have a say.”

“If you ever want us to visit again you’ll respect the veto,” David retorted, aiming his best ‘stern big brother’ look in Emma’s direction. “I’m sorry but spiders…”

“… Belong in the pits of hell with pineapple pizza and the Barney theme song,” Emma and Mary Margaret recited together from memory, breaking into laughter at David’s affronted glare.

“You’re nothing if not consistent, honey,” Mary Margaret soothed, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

Emma flicked a cardboard coaster David’s way. “Don’t worry, Miss Muffet, I’m not choosing spider woman anyway.” She took another sip of beer while she scanned the calendar on her phone. “But if I don’t find someone soon I’m screwed. It was nice to live on my own and regroup for a few months but my bank account doesn’t agree.”

“There’s always room for you at our house, Emma, you know that,” said Mary Margaret, David nodding along beside her.

“I do, and I appreciate it,” Emma replied with a smile, picking at the sticker on her bottle. “But I really like where I am, and it’s close to work. Plus I’m way too lazy to pack … not that there’s much left _to_ pack considering the majority of it belonged to Walsh,” she added, her smile turning grim.

Mary Margaret wrapped her arm around Emma’s shoulder. “His furniture was ugly anyway,” she commiserated, earning a surprised huff of laughter from her friend. “What? It was,” she smirked. “Honestly, the man _owns_ a furniture store, you’d think he’d at least have some taste.”

“Remember the lamp with the wooden monkey carvings on it?” said David.

“How could I forget?” Emma replied, screwing up her nose. “Do you know how many times I tried to ‘accidentally’ break that shitty thing?” She nestled her head back against the booth with a sigh. “I do miss the couch, though. Sitting on a beanbag in front of the TV makes me feel like I’m living in a frat house.”

“You’ll find a new roommate, Emma, I’m sure of it,” said Mary Margaret, offering her a bright smile. “And in the meantime you can dance your worries away at our Halloween party tomorrow night!”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Substitute ‘dance’ for ‘drink’ and you’ve got yourself a deal.” She shot an innocent glance in David’s direction. “I was thinking about dressing up as Aragog and you could be Hagrid – whaddya say?”

David narrowed his eyes at her. “ _Veto_.”

* * *

“So, are you like SpongeBob SquarePants at work or…”

Emma eyeballed the drunk cowboy swaying in front of her and downed some wine, as dictated by the rules of her own personal drinking game (Halloween edition): take a huge-ass gulp when someone didn’t know what her costume was. Her liver was already preparing its soul.

“Maybe I should’ve dressed up as a liver,” she murmured into her glass.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” Emma retorted, pointing towards the sky. “I think Buzz went that way, Woody,” she added, turning on her heel to leave a very confused cowboy in her wake. She pushed past a group of people in the backyard consisting of an 80s-style Madonna, Captain America, a cat and something that resembled the ‘sexy’ version of a hamburger ( _what the hell?_ ) before she made her way back inside and found Mary Margaret and Ruby chatting in the kitchen by the punch bowl.

“Who am I?” Emma asked the two women, grabbing the nearest bottle of Riesling to refill her glass.

Ruby arched an eyebrow. “Is this an existential crisis query?” she began, waving one of her Poison Ivy vines in the blonde’s direction. “Or more of a ‘welcome to Emma’s annual ‘no one gets my costume’ pity party’ thing?”

“The second one, smartass,” Emma retorted, rolling her eyes at Ruby’s playful grin. “And people have been getting it... eventually.” She glanced down at her yellow shirt with mustard-colored construction paper circles haphazardly stapled on and shook her head. “It’s not my fault I only had an hour to DIY something after work.”

“I completely understand,” said Mary Margaret, adjusting the plastic bow and arrow set of her Katniss ensemble over her shoulder. “I mean, it would just be so much easier if Halloween fell on the same date every year so people could plan an outfit in advance.” She aimed a smirk Emma’s way before noticing the utensils tucked away in the front pocket of the apron Emma was also wearing. “Are they our barbecue tools?”

“I forgot I didn’t own a set anymore,” Emma sheepishly replied, raising her glass. “My costume and I thank you.”

“You might want to keep the gratitude coming,” David interrupted, sauntering over to them with a smug grin. “Because I just found you the perfect roommate.”

Emma gave him a solemn look. “I don’t know if I can really trust the judgment of someone wearing a mullet wig.”

“Legendary Bon Jovi wig, thank you very much,” David quipped, giving his hair a dramatic flick “And my judgment is perfect – Killian ticks all the boxes.”

“What’s a Killian?” Ruby asked, ladling some blood red punch into her glass. “Are they hot?”

“Killian is one of Robin’s old buddies he went to high school with back in the UK – Robin brought him along tonight,” David replied, opening the fridge to retrieve two of his expensive craft beers hidden away at the back. “He’s crashing at Robin and Regina’s apartment temporarily but he mentioned he was looking for a place to rent.” David smiled at Emma. “How’s that for fate?”

Emma scoffed and leaned her thigh against the kitchen counter. “You’ve known him for all of five seconds, how do you know he ‘ticks all the boxes’?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “He Colin Firth’d you with a charming accent didn’t he. You probably _swooned_.”

“There was no _swooning_ ,” David retorted, as one of Emma’s paper circles fell off and fluttered to the ground when she folded her arms. “Killian’s just a genuine, friendly guy who needs a helping hand.”

Mary Margaret peered over her boyfriend’s shoulder into the living room where Robin was talking to someone. “Well that does appear to be true considering he’s come dressed as Captain Hook.”

“What?” David replied, angling his head in the direction of where Mary Margaret, Emma and Ruby were now staring. “No, that’s not Killian – yikes, you thought my wig was bad. Check out the perm on that guy.” He turned back to the trio. “Killian’s the one who looks like he belongs on a hoverboard.”

Emma’s mouth involuntarily dropped open as Captain Terrible Perm moved aside just in time to reveal Killian standing next to Robin in all his Marty McFly glory. Albeit a more scruffy, rugged, taller version whose eyes crinkled in the corners when he laughed and… Emma shook herself from her thoughts as Ruby let out a low whistle.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Ruby murmured. “Turns out a Killian _is_ hot.”

“I can see why you took a shine to him,” Mary Margaret teased her boyfriend.

David gave her a withering look. “No shine was taken.”

She raised her eyebrows, nodding her head at the bottles of beer in his hands. “So one of those ridiculously over-priced, ‘no one is allowed to drink these except for me’, super special beers you’re holding isn’t for him then, hmm?”

“…No.”

Mary Margaret hid a smirk. “How am I supposed to keep the faith when you lie to me?”

Chuckling, David inched forward to give her a peck on the lips. “That’s why I’m livin’ on a prayer, my dear.”

“Excuse me while I throw up in my mouth a little,” Ruby muttered, giving the couple a saccharine smile while Emma snorted. “One of Bon Jovi’s lesser-known songs,” she offered, before ushering David away with a leafy arm. “Go make yourself useful and bring Killian over. We need to assess his potential – roommate and otherwise.”

“Ruby,” Emma warned as David set off into the living room, “do we need to have the ‘this is my life not The Bachelorette’ discussion again?”

Ruby shrugged, picking a plastic eyeball out of her drink she’d accidentally ladled in. “Can’t a girl just help out one of her best friends?”

“She threatened…” 

“How about we go with the plan that doesn’t make anyone uncomfortable, including Killian,” suggested Mary Margaret in her best soothing schoolteacher voice. She fixed Ruby with a stern look when she didn’t answer. “Do I need to put my arrows to good use, missy? Because I will.”

“Fine, _Ms. Blanchard_ , I promise I’ll be good,” said Ruby, poking out her tongue. She was about to make another retort when something caught her attention and she cocked her head to the side. “Oh shit, the new guy’s accent is hot,” she said, her face splitting into a grin.

“What?” Emma exclaimed, glancing into the living room where David was still speaking with Killian and Robin. “How the hell can you hear them from another room? _And_ with David’s terrible rock playlist blaring?”

“Call it a skill,” she replied, throwing Emma a wink. “Brace yourselves, ladies, the accent-apocalypse is almost upon us.”

Emma gripped her wine glass more tightly when she saw David leading Killian towards the three of them. She plastered on a smile that she hoped was more friendly and less Chandler Bing trying to pose for an engagement photo. _I will not be Colin Firth’d. I will not be Colin Firth’d. I will not be…_

“Hey guys,” David said brightly, approaching them with Killian in tow. “This is Killian, the friend of Robin’s I was telling you about.” He turned to clap a hand on the newcomer’s shoulder. “Killian, this is my girlfriend, Mary Margaret – recent Hunger Games victor – our friend Ruby, aka Poison Ivy, and my sister, Emma, outfit TBA.”

Smiling at Emma’s scoff of derision, Killian gave them all a little wave with the free hand not holding his craft beer. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet all of you. And thank you for allowing me to gatecrash your party,” he added, nodding his head in Mary Margaret’s direction. “Your home is lovely – fake headstones in the front lawn and all.”

Emma gulped down another mouthful of wine while the rest of them chuckled. _Thanks a fucking lot, Colin Firth. Jesus_. She took a deep breath. _OK, you’ve had your coronary. Time to rein it in._ She relaxed her face into another smile. “So Killian, my brother tells me you’re looking for a place to live?”

“Aye, that I am,” Killian replied. “Robin and Regina have been quite accommodating, but they’re newly engaged and have Roland to contend with. They don’t need to be worrying about me too.” He gave her a wry smile. “Plus my name doesn’t begin with R, so I’m feeling decidedly put out.”

“That is a very solid reason to move,” smirked Emma. “Are you hoping for somewhere long-term or…”

Killian nodded. “Most definitely. I’m, uh, looking for a fresh start as it were,” he said, a pained expression briefly infiltrating his smile. “This town has been quite appealing so far.”

“Good,” Emma replied. “Because I’ll need a roommate who’ll stick around.”

“That would be my intention,” he smiled.

“Well isn’t that _nice_ , Emma,” Ruby grinned, giving her friend an unsubtle elbow to the side. “Sounds like a done deal to me.” She held back a laugh at Emma’s eye roll and Mary Margaret’s fingers tapping on the side of her bow.

“ _If_ you pass the official roommate interview of course,” Emma quickly added. “I mean for all I know you could be a serial killer.”

Killian smirked. “Or you could be one,” he cheerfully replied.

“Exactly.”

“She is pretty scary before she’s had coffee in the morning,” David agreed.

Mary Margaret nodded. “Only then will she bestow you a grunt of acknowledgement.”

“How you’re both still alive is a miracle,” Emma drolly replied, fumbling around in her apron pocket for her phone. “Here, put your number in and I’ll text you my building’s address,” she said to Killian, entering her passcode before offering him the phone. “Does tomorrow at noon suit you?”

“It’s a plan,” said Killian, typing in his details. He handed back her phone, noticing a cardboard circle on the ground. “Perhaps I could bring some grilled cheese for lunch seeing as you appear to favor it quite highly,” he chuckled, picking up the fallen object and handing it back to Emma, who was looking at him in amazement. “Or not?”

“No, sorry, it’s just…” She broke into a grin. “You knew what my costume was.”

“Aye of course,” he said, gesturing at her outfit. “Swiss cheese-looking shirt, apron with grilling implements stowed away. It’s quite clever, actually.”

Ruby slung her arm around Emma’s shoulder. “Well that _definitely_ should earn Marty McBritish some brownie points, don’t you think, Ems?”

Emma allowed her lips to quirk up briefly at the encouraging grin on Killian’s face. “We’ll see.”

**November 2013**

Hearing footsteps on the other side of apartment 205, Killian fought back the urge to smooth down his hair into a more respectable fashion before Emma appeared. _This isn’t a date, Jones_ , he chided. _Besides, she’s already seen you in a red puffer vest whilst she was dressed as dairy, it’s hardly going to matter what you look like._

Killian smiled to himself as he recalled catching a glimpse of Emma across the room at the party before he knew who she actually was. The beautiful, blonde woman was sneakily pilfering a set of tongs and a spatula from a kitchen drawer and tucking them into her apron, and he had a brief thought she would have made a wonderful pirate. 

But when he clicked as to what her costume actually was he’d let out a deep laugh, earning a reproachful look from Regina who’d been telling their group a somber tale about two people she’d had to fire that week. To say Killian was delighted the lass turned out to be _the_ Emma Swan David had mentioned would be an understatement. But now was not the time for those kinds of feelings. Killian was hopeful he was about to gain a new housemate and a potential friend, not entertain fanciful thoughts about… 

“Emma! Hello!” he blurted out when the door suddenly swung open. “I brought sustenance as promised.” He held out the large brown paper bag clutched in his hand to her like some sort of food bouquet. _Why not just give her an onion ring corsage and be done with it, you wanker?_

Emma eyed the takeaway, smiling when the scent of grilled cheese and other assorted unhealthy things hit her. “I don’t accept bribes as part of the roommate process,” she said with a smirk, taking the food from him and inviting him in. “Just so you know.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Killian said with a grin, unzipping his jacket and loosening his black scarf. “Everything is above board – especially the bear claws.”

She paused in the hallway to stare at him, mouth gaping open. “You got bear claws too?” she asked, uncurling the bag to peer inside. 

Killian hung his jacket over his arm, scratching behind his ear with his free hand. “I _may_ have been worded up last night by someone with questionable hair that they’re your favorites.” He smiled when he saw her roll her eyes.

“Remind me to strangle Bon Jovi when we’re done here,” she replied, the amusement in her eyes betraying her words. She led Killian down the hall into the kitchen and set the bag on the bench.

“Ahh, so one of us is a serial killer after all?” Killian mused, draping his jacket and scarf over the back of an old wooden chair. “Well, I hope you get paid assassin’s wages, love, you’d make a killing.”

Emma opened an overhead cupboard to grab two plates. “Speaking of earning a living and ignoring terrible puns, I should probably ask what you do, Killian Jones,” she said with a smile, ushering him to sit when he made a move to help her plate up. “We didn’t get much of a chance to chat last night before Robin had to leave. Was Roland OK?”

“Aye, just a stomachache,” he nodded, pulling out a chair. “It appears the babysitter couldn’t resist the lad’s dimples and fed him too many sweets,” he chuckled. “As for a job, the bar I used to work at has a few franchises, the original of which is here I believe. I called in a favor with the owner, Granny,” Killian paused at Emma’s raised eyebrow. “It’s a moniker that’s stuck, although she’s far from your usual grandmother type,” he explained with a smile. “I start there Monday.”

“That’s good,” said Emma, tipping onion rings onto both plates alongside the grilled cheese and french fries. “What’s the bar called?”

“Have you heard of The Wolf & Bow?” 

Emma broke into a laugh, accidentally scattering a few onion rings onto the bench. “Are you _kidding_ me?” she exclaimed, scooping up the spilled food. “That’s been my regular bar since forever. I’m pretty sure the cushion in our booth has my ass-groove molded into it.” She flushed slightly at his bemused expression, busying herself with retrieving a jug of water from the fridge and filling two glasses.

Emma tried to get Killian to stay seated when he rose to help her carry over their lunch but he just shook his head. “Bad form not to pitch in,” he explained, picking up the loaded plates and placing them on the table across from each other while Emma set down the glasses. “Also it can’t hurt to show you what a considerate housemate I can be,” he added with a wink. 

“And a modest one too,” said Emma, grabbing her laptop to scan through more of her questions while they ate. 

Killian watched in amusement as Emma took her seat and bit into her triangle of grilled cheese, momentarily closing her eyes and humming in appreciation as if she were indulging in a rare delicacy. “So what’s next on your questionnaire list?” he asked, popping a few fries into his mouth. “If it’s anything to do with cleanliness I can assure you I’m quite tidy.” Noticing the guilty scrunch of her nose, he followed her eye line to the sink where a pile of dirty dishes were stacked.

“In my defense it’s not _always_ that bad but I work weird hours with my bail bonds job and cleaning up isn’t exactly my number one priority when I’ve had no sleep.” Emma tilted her head, a hint of a challenge in her smile. “Plus I’m pretty sure there’s a family of raccoons living in there now.”

He could tell she was testing what level he was at on the Felix Unger scale of obsessive hygiene, but a collection of dirty dishes was nothing compared to living with a four-year-old imp who liked to hide half-eaten sandwiches _everywhere_. “Well, that settles that then,” Killian replied in a stoic manner, wiping his fingers onto a napkin. “We’ll just open up a petting zoo and charge admission.” 

Emma’s lips spread into an appreciative grin. “That’s one way to cover the rent.”

“My thoughts precisely.” Killian watched as Emma perused a few more questions on her list before looking at him in consideration and closing the lid of her laptop.

“OK, here’s the lowdown,” she said, picking up an onion ring and biting into it. “The hot water system likes to have mood swings, so some days you’ll enjoy a long, hot shower and other days it’ll be as though you’re bathing in Antarctica.” 

“I lived in England for the first twenty years of my life, I’m used to formidable temperatures.”

She nodded, chewing the rest of the crispy batter. “We’ll make an even split of the bills and rent but it’s probably better if we do our own food shopping,” Emma continued, licking ketchup off the pad of her thumb. “Unless of course you’re a connoisseur of Pop Tarts, microwave meals and grilled cheese like myself,” she added with a smile.

Killian huffed out a laugh. “Delicious as that sounds, I’d say separate grocery shopping is a solid plan.” He took a sip of his water, glancing over at the stovetop that currently had a plastic houseplant residing on it. “Although I wouldn’t be adverse to showing off my culinary skills and cooking you a meal from time to time,” Killian added with an inviting smile. “I’ve been told I make a delicious lasagna.”

“No bribes, remember?” Emma said, pointing her finger at him accusingly. She chuckled when he held his hand to his heart in mock offense. “What about bad habits?” she asked, resting her elbow on the table and propping her chin in her hand. “Anything I should be pre-warned about?”

“Aye, there is one thing,” Killian solemnly replied, mimicking her pose and leaning in closer to her. “Quite shameful really.”

“Do tell.”

“Well, on the eve of every full moon I like to clog dance to Britney Spears’ greatest hits CD.”

Emma bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. “Now isn’t that a coincidence,” she teased, her eyes shining. “The night before a full moon I always perform a tap recital to the same music.”

“I don’t want to alarm you, Emma,” Killian said with a broad grin, “but it appears we make quite the team.”

They smiled at one another, relishing the genuine warmth of the moment, before Emma struck out her arm towards him. “Welcome to the mad house, Jones.”

Killian grasped her hand and gave it a firm shake. “I look forward to it, Swan.” 

* * *

For all intents and purposes, Killian felt as though his first week as official roommate had gone by pretty smoothly… albeit in a ‘we’re still getting used to one another so we’re going to tip toe around and act in a weirdly polite fashion’ kind of way (‘It’s OK you can use the shower first’, ‘Oh no I couldn’t possibly, you go’, ‘No you’ll be faster it’s alright’, ‘I must insist you go first’ repeat ad nauseum until they’d both aged a decade and were no closer to a wash). 

They managed a semblance of banter here and there, of course, but between them both working different hours they hadn’t really had a chance to sit down and enjoy each other’s company. Which is why, Killian thought, as he unlocked the apartment door after a long shift at the bar, he was grateful to hear the television blaring from the living room. Nothing like a bit of telly to relax and unwind.

“Why in the hell would a _goat_ be at a _golf club_ you dumbass?!”

_Or perhaps not_ , Killian mused, pausing in the hallway halfway through unbuttoning his coat at the sound of Emma’s unabashed shouting. He emerged in the archway of the living room moments later, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth when he saw Emma sprawled on his seen-better-days black leather couch they’d retrieved from storage, throwing a handful of popcorn at a Family Feud contestant onscreen.

“Oh come on, Phillip, use your damn brain.”

“Yeah, Phillip, listen to Swan.”

Emma practically leapt out of her skin at Killian’s interruption, staring at him as he sauntered from the entryway and sat down next to her on the couch. “You’re home early,” she managed to blurt out, brushing stray popcorn from her shirt.

“Just in time I’d say,” Killian replied, scooping a handful of the buttery snack from the bowl on her lap. “You and Mr. Harvey here can’t have all the fun berating the competitors.” He propped up his sock-clad feet on the coffee table. “Now which family is unfortunate enough to have Phillip on their team?”

“… The Kingfords,” said Emma, a soft smile lifting her mouth as she settled back into the couch cushions. “They’re the ones with the matching red polo shirts like they’re vacationing at Disneyland. Phillip never stood a chance.” She flinched when a small missile hit the side of her face, laughing when she realized it was a piece of popcorn. “Hey! What was that for?”

Killian waggled his eyebrows at her. “Thought I’d get some practice in,” he smirked, feigning injury when the TV remote hit his shoulder.

“I’ll practice your ass if you’re not careful.”

“Sounds delightful.”

“Zip it, Jones. Phillip’s about to make Steve Harvey re-evaluate his life and I need to concentrate.”

“As you wish.”

**December 2013**

Emma felt like an extra in The Walking Dead, stumbling out of her bedroom and into the hallway, squinting at daylight and groaning wearily at the sound of Christmas music thumping steadily through the walls from the neighbor’s apartment. She’d finished work late the night before and now the only thing she wanted to hear was the siren song of the coffee pot and _not_ another rousing rendition of ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ (‘tis the season to loathe Mariah, fa la-la la-la…).

Shuffling into the kitchen Emma practically fell to her knees in praise when she noticed the freshly brewed pot, eagerly pouring the liquid into a mug. Taking a careful gulp, Emma belatedly realized Killian was sitting at the table with his laptop, sipping coffee from his chipped mug with the little anchors on it.

“Morning, Swan,” he said with a grin, chuckling at her grunt in return.

“Good morning, Swan!” another accented voice chirped.

Emma paused, slowly lowering the mug from her lips. “This could be the sleep deprivation talking,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes, “but did we steal JARVIS from Tony Stark?”

“Sadly no,” Killian replied, gesturing at his computer. “That’s my elderly brother chiming in via Skype I’m afraid.”

“Oi, _older_ brother, thank you very much,” the voice rang out.

“Hush now, Liam, or you’ll upset your dentures,” Killian scolded, throwing a wink Emma’s way. “Would you like to meet him, Swan?”

Emma glanced down at her mismatched pajamas, cringing at the smear of orange Cheetos dust on her shirt, a souvenir from her Netflix binge two nights ago. “I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion…”

“Nonsense, you look lovely,” Killian replied, pulling out the chair next to him and waving her over. “Besides, if anything will be off-putting it’ll be Liam’s hideous wrinkles, so I wouldn’t… Oh that’s nice that is,” Killian said in a mock offended tone, nodding at the screen. “Here I am trying to make a good impression and my brother flips me the bird.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t figured out a way to reach through the computer and throttle you with all the insults being flung his way,” Emma scoffed, running her hand through her tangled hair and hoping it didn’t resemble the giant haystack it felt like. Emma sat down next to Killian and smiled at the man in the Skype window who was waving at her.

“Hello Emma, nice to officially meet you,” Liam said with a jovial grin. “I like the throttling Killian idea – please feel free to act as my proxy and deliver on that suggestion at any time,” he added, holding up his takeaway coffee to her in a cheers motion.

Emma chuckled; lifting up her mug to Liam and noting the way his eyes crinkled in much the same manner as his brother’s. “Will do. And nice to meet you too.” She heard the exaggerated clearing of a throat coming from beside her and turned to Killian with an innocent look. “What? We’re bonding.”

“Ingrates, the both of you,” Killian muttered, shaking his head whilst fighting back a smirk.

The three of them chatted easily for the next fifteen minutes, Emma delighting in the fact that Liam managed to squeeze in a few embarrassing tales from Killian’s childhood in the short time period (“Oh Christ almighty, not the underwear story,” Killian groaned, as Liam continued to engage Emma with his anecdote. “… He was determined to wear his Superman underoos everywhere, even to school. Minus the rest of his clothes!”).

After the call wrapped up, Emma relocated to the toaster and popped in some bread. “It’s sad you know,” she said, fishing through the cupboard for two clean plates.

“What’s that?” Killian replied, making a beeline for the coffee machine and refilling both of their mugs.

“That Liam obviously received all the good-looking genes in the family,” she nonchalantly replied, grinning as she opened another cupboard for the peanut butter and heard Killian scoff behind her. “ _And_ all the wit and charm too,” Emma added, clucking her tongue in sympathy. “That’s gotta bite.”

Killian placed their coffee mugs near the toaster and leaned back against the bench, folding his arms. “So what you’re really telling me, Swan, is that you find me to be a hideous, gormless troll?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” Emma nodded, both of them keeping a straight face for all of five seconds before they broke into laughter. “You two are such goofs together, I can see why you always go back there for Christmas.”

“Aye, we do have a good time,” Killian fondly replied, scooting aside so Emma could grab a knife from the drawer behind him. “Mind you we have to keep curfew at his nursing home, can’t have the old man out past his bedtime.” 

Emma grinned. “What date are you heading over?”

“I’m leaving on the twentieth and I’ll be back on the third of January,” he replied, nodding his thanks when the toast popped up and Emma put one on a plate for him.

“Do you need someone to do the airport drop-off/pick-up?” asked Emma, spreading a generous amount of peanut butter on her toast.

“Are you offering?” he said with a pleased smile.

Emma passed him the peanut butter jar, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m going to recommend the services of Frosty the Snowman,” she retorted. “Of course I’m offering, I’m not a complete asshole. Consider it my Christmas present,” she added, waving her toast with a flourish before biting into it.

“Thank you, Swan, I appreciate it.” Killian swiped a thin layer of the spread onto his slice. “Although I didn’t quite think you were into the whole Christmas thing,” he said carefully, twisting the lid closed on the jar when he was finished. “No decorations around the place,” he clarified when she raised an eyebrow at him. “Muttering about constructing a Father Christmas voodoo doll every time the neighbors strike up another festive tune, etcetera etcetera.”

Emma stilled for a moment before swallowing her food. “It’s not like I’m next in line for Grinch-hood,” she said, picking up her coffee. “I just don’t see the point in making the house look as though an elf threw up in it,” she shrugged. “And our neighbors don’t even have the decency to add the Hanson Christmas album into the mix, so they’re already dead to me.”

“Harsh but fair,” Killian conceded, smiling into his mug as he gulped down the beverage. “Liam’s an elf-vomit type of decorator,” he added as an afterthought.

“Really?”

“The absolute worst. A task I try to thwart at every turn.” Killian shook his head with a laugh as a memory came back to him. “When I was ten he bought these giant inflatable reindeers to put on the front porch – let’s just say I posed them in quite the unbecoming manner.”

“I’ll bet Rudolph had never been invited to _those_ kind of reindeer games before,” Emma snickered. “How’d Liam take it?”

“He was more concerned about poor old Mrs. Fleming next door. She never did bake us another pudding after that,” he grinned, taking a bite of toast. “Did you and David get up to any Christmas mischief when you were younger?”

Casting her eyes downward, Emma traced a finger through some stray crumbs on her plate. “Uh, no, not that I can remember,” she said quietly, lifting her head to offer him a quick smile. “I might go grab a shower. Is the hot water behaving today?”

Killian appraised her with a gentle, curious look at her change of topic before giving her a smile. "Aye you’re in luck, she’s in an agreeable mood.”

“Good,” Emma replied, groaning when the unmistakable tones of Michael Bublé blared through the walls with renewed vigor. “Maybe I’ll drown myself in there.”

“That’s the Christmas spirit, love.”

After Emma had showered, dressed and fantasized about breaking in next door and attacking their sound system with an axe, she wandered back into the kitchen for more coffee and found a note from Killian letting her know he’d ducked out for an hour or so to ‘run some errands’.

She was tucked into the corner of the couch watching the Food Network when she heard Killian arrive home. “You should get in here,” she yelled over her shoulder. “There’s an Iron Chef marathon about to start.” 

“Just a moment, Swan!”

Emma took a sip of her coffee. “What do you think the secret ingredient will be?” she called out towards the direction of the kitchen where Killian was rustling around. “I hope it’s not something lame like broccoli.”

Killian appeared through the entryway and stood in front of her, holding his hands behind his back. “You say that about all the healthy ingredients,” he smirked.

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” she replied, tilting her head at him. “What’s with the weird loitering?” she smiled, placing her mug on the coffee table.

“I got you something,” he said with a grin, rocking back on his heels before bringing his arms around and showing her the small white gift bag in his hands. “Merry early Christmas.”

Emma stared at Killian as he took a seat next to her. “What do you mean you got me something?” she said in surprise, looking at the present he plonked onto her lap.

“Consider it a pre-emptive thank you for taking me to the airport,” he replied, scratching the ever-persistent itch behind his ear. “And, well, all that talk before about traditions and what-not got me thinking. Perhaps we could start our own roommate tradition? Nothing too extravagant and elf-vomit-worthy, I promise you.”

She took in his hesitant smile, feeling something warm surge through her chest, and lifted out an object wrapped in tissue paper from the gift bag. “Is it my Santa voodoo doll?” she asked with a grin.

“Maybe next year if you’re good,” he teased, nodding towards the present. “Go on then, open it.”

Emma carefully unwrapped the paper and found a red, green and gold bauble inside. She glanced at Killian, who appeared to be doing his best to hold back a smirk. “What’s that look for?” she said warily.

Killian bit his bottom lip, giving her a playful shrug. “Nothing at all. Although I think you probably _should_ press the little button underneath.”

She raised an eyebrow at him before turning the bauble over in her hand and doing as she was instructed. Emma nearly pitched the ornament at Killian’s head when the shrill, tinny music of All I Want For Christmas Is You began to blast from inside of it. “I am going to _kill_ you!” she said, bursting into laughter as Killian did the same. “What the hell roommate tradition do you call this?”

“Ahh, that would be the ‘who can purchase the most terrible ornament’ tradition,” Killian replied, gliding his hand through the air like he was introducing a game show segment. “I don’t want to brag, Swan, but I think I’ve already won.”

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that, buddy…”

* * *

A few days into Killian’s trip, Emma texted him a photo of the bauble (nicknamed Mariah) hanging from the houseplant in the kitchen, with a new ornament beside it – a gingerbread man she’d painted Superman underwear on (who knew _that_ would be the reason she’d dig out her old art supplies after all these years?). Emma grinned in triumph when his replies came through.

_Killian – 0. Emma – 1._  
_P.S. I’m wearing them right now. I look very dashing._  
_P.P.S. Merry Christmas Swan._

Emma smiled fondly at her phone screen and typed out a response.

_Merry Christmas you giant nerd._

* * *

Coming soon: January – May 2014 featuring an ex partner, Valentine’s Day shenanigans and an inquisitive brother.


End file.
